


dust to dust

by stardipped



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-10 03:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14729003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardipped/pseuds/stardipped
Summary: natasha romanoff knows loss, she’s dealt and been dealt with loss her whole life – but she’s never known loss like this. no, never like this. aka 'natasha dealing with the post-snap decimation, guided loosely by the five stages of grief.' // updated chapter(s) with endgame spoilers





	1. denial

**Author's Note:**

> this is probably spoiler-y for infinity war, if you haven't seen it! listening to 'dust to dust' really put me in the mood for writing some blackhill vignettes / some are looser than others, and each chapter tends to shuffle between past and present, but i do hope you enjoy this :)

_All your actin'_  
_Your thin disguise_  
_All your perfectly delivered lies_  
_They don't fool me_

"Dust to Dust" by The Civil Wars

* * *

 ‘You know, Nat, I’m starting to think that you miss working here,’ Pepper Potts smirks as she walks in on a certain redhead, who spins around at the voice. Natasha Romanoff dares to look sheepish only for a second, before a mask slips on easily, and she turns back towards the stove top and continues stirring.

‘Pepper,’ Natasha tests cautiously. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I work here, Natasha. More appropriately so, what are _you_ doing here?’

If Natasha wants to play cat-and-mouse, Pepper sure as hell could play along with that. God knows she needed the entertainment around here sometimes.

‘I… uh, I just really missed JARVIS?’

‘Sure you do,’ Pepper lets it slide for now, and walks further into the kitchen, as Natasha continues to busy herself with her cooking, choosing to continue ignoring Pepper’s presence. This is no time for distraction, she thinks, as she spoons some of the stew into her mouth to taste. It tastes good, and Natasha allows herself a small, satisfied smile at that, before tossing some toast into the oven.

‘What are you cooking?’

‘Beef bourguignon.’

‘Huh,’ Pepper raises an eyebrow, ‘If my memory serves me well – and it usually does – I do recall one of my most competent employees mentioning how she’d take on some Chitauri all over again just for some home-cooked stew…’ she trails off cheekily, reveling in the way Natasha continues to struggle with her admission. The oblivion shared by these two idiots is driving her absolutely insane, Pepper thinks – all they need is a little push.

‘Ms Romanoff, Ms Hill’s vehicle has just entered the compound,’ JARVIS’s voice fills the kitchen suddenly, as if on cue, and Pepper breaks into a big smile, knowing that she’s won this round.

‘Well then, I guess this is my sign to leave. Have a great lunch with JARVIS, Nat!’ Pepper winks knowingly at Natasha, who rolls her eyes defensively. 

‘You know, Nat,’ Pepper starts again, this time gently and without any teasing in her voice, ‘She feels the same way as you do.’

Natasha blinks, and Pepper sees the wheels turning in her mind, halfway shutting down the processing of what her words might even mean.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,' Natasha is evasive as she moves away again, taking the toast out from the toaster and plating up a serving of the beef bourguignon.

Pepper doesn’t let out the sigh she’s been holding on to, as she’s both warmed by and worried for two of her closest friends. But as she steps out of the kitchen and heads into the elevator, she hears a barely noticeable, ‘Thanks, Pep.’

Pepper smiles to herself then – maybe there is hope for them, after all.

* * *

 It is ten minutes to the long-awaited press conference following the events of what the media have termed a ‘worldwide catastrophe’, as if they were trying to convince themselves there even was a world left. Tony Stark surveys the anxious crowd of reporters and journalists awaiting in the room behind the large wooden doors – he is _not_ looking forward to tackling this.

‘Nat’s not here yet,’ Pepper looks at the rest of the Avengers empathically.

They aren’t surprised that Natasha has taken off, and truth be told, as much as it would kill Tony to admit it, he was just a little proud of how she’s managed to stay put and help pick up the pieces as best as she could till now. He might not understand her need to run – Steve and himself both run headlong into battles no matter the odds, albeit for very different reasons – but he understands that this is what Natasha needs now.

‘Eyes up, guys, let’s do this. She’ll be back.’ Steve looks around at the rest of his team, nods resolutely and meets their gazes midway as looks of deep understanding and trust are exchanged.

* * *

_‘Maybe in another life, Romanoff. Or even one day, when this is all over.’_

Natasha replays the words in her mind over and over. _When this is all over_ , Maria had said to her, even when both women knew then, fully well that _this_ would never be over, there is no place in this world where a ‘them’ could have existed. And now…it was all over. The words were like a hopeless promise that Natasha foolishly clung on to, and now they feel more like a premonition heeded too late. There is a kind of emptiness smarting in her being, different from all the hollow that she’s familiar with.

No.

None of this is happening. It _can’t_ be.

Maria _can’t_ be gone.

Natasha defaults to the only thing she knew well before she allowed herself this…family, this life, this chance at absolution.

She takes off into the near, dear night.


	2. anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which they're all emotionally constipated balls of frustration, aka Big Idiots who have a lot of love and aren't sure what to do with it all

_You've held your head up_  
_You've fought the fight_  
_You bear the scars_  
_You've done your time_

* * *

 

‘What the hell do you think you were doing, Romanoff?”

Natasha groans at the sharp pain in her leg as she sits herself up, only to see the one Maria Hill storm furiously into the medbay. Now, the Hill she is used to is calm and unflinching, rational and level-headed, even when she was mad. The other agents typically see her as glacial and aloof; ‘Ice Queen’, they call her, for even her anger is cool and quiet – Natasha always smirks when she hears the moniker being used. She knows Maria couldn’t care less about what they thought about her, she’s probably even a little proud that her agents are fearful of her. Not Natasha though, Natasha doesn’t fear Maria. Ice queen or not, she’s always respected the collected resolve and formidable presence that Maria commanded.

But this Maria standing before her is a Maria like she’s never seen before – this Maria is red and fiery, eyes flashing and heart-thumping. This is new, Natasha thinks to herself. She cocks her head to the side, surveying the situation.

‘I was just doing my job, Hill.’

‘Your job, _agent_ , is to follow _my_ orders when we’re in a mission. You don’t get to go off and be a hero when I specifically asked all of you to stand down!’

‘I _had_ him, I would’ve succeeded,’ Natasha continues protesting as she throws in a haughty eyeroll, curious to pick apart the brunette glowering down at her. She’s gone against orders from various higher-ups before, even Hill, and she’s always gotten away with it just fine – she knows she’s one of their most precious assets anyway – so what was different about this mission that’s gotten Maria so worked up?

She sees Hill’s eyes widen just a little, as if she’s somehow incredulous at Natasha’s…nerve.

‘You don’t operate as an ‘I’ anymore, Romanoff. You work for SHIELD now, and we work as one unit around here! To think I wrote you off as operationally ready for fieldwork…’ Hill trails off, eyes dark and unrelenting. The words are unfinished, but the implication is clear and resounding.

Natasha winces visibly, her face heating up. Hill has hit a vein – the words are harsh, but it is the stark bite and disappointment in her voice that clings crudely onto Natasha’s skin. She’s hurt and embarrassed, and she wouldn’t normally be touched by anything like this, but it’s Maria Hill, the woman whom she’s always tried to impress for god knows whatever reason. The irritation rises, and she lets the confusion and indignation bubble over and win out against the initial curiosity.

‘You’re so fucking infuriating, you know that, Hill?’ Natasha grits out hotly, staring defiantly up her commanding officer.

‘I’m infuriating?!’ Maria’s voice raises half an octave, as she unconsciously takes a step forward towards the bed. ‘You dive right into a room full of armed hostiles and almost get killed in the process, and _I’m_ infuriating? You’re lucky you got out with only a GSW, _you_ – “

With an exasperated growl, Hill does the most unexpected thing, as she bends down towards the bed, grabs Natasha’s face and lowers her lips fiercely onto hers.

_Oh._

Natasha gasps, both instinctively and in surprise, as she feels Maria’s tongue slip against her own. The kiss is bruising at first, hot and wet with mutual frustration and vexation poured into it. There is nothing graceful about it, desperate hands clawing, every touch and kiss searing deeper into each other; both wanting to touch more, feel more, everything more.

“Get down here,’ Natasha murmurs breathily as she pulls Maria down impatiently onto the bed with her. Now that they’re finally of equal height, Natasha gets a much better angle, and she wastes no time as she catches Hill’s bottom lip between her teeth, grazing lightly before biting down, hard. It pulls a low moan that sends a jolt through Natasha’s body, and she continues, traces her tongue playfully along Hill’s lips before dropping her mouth to her neck.

‘God, babe,’ Maria’s breath hitches, head lolling back slightly to give Natasha greater access.

It is only when Natasha pauses for a beat as she favours her injured leg that they break apart slowly, foreheads pressed together, neither wanting to fully break contact. The air is thick and quiet, and there’s only the slight whirring noises of the machines in the medbay. Natasha takes all of Maria in – kiss-swollen lips, eyes closed and heavy breath – and the sight makes her stomach knot. She decides there and then that she’d do many things for this stubborn, beautiful, dangerous woman before her.

‘Still mad?’ Natasha takes Maria’s chin in her hands and tilts it upwards, green eyes meeting blue.

‘Yes, and you’re still an idiot,’ Maria leans in again as she whispers softly against Natasha’s cheek. She breathes in deeply, taking in Natasha’s subtle scent and sighs.

"Stay."

Maria nods, she doesn't trust herself to speak. They can deal with whatever this means another time; right now, they’re both warm and safe and that’s all that matters.

* * *

 She finds Steve in the gym, going at it at a well-worn punching bag. She recognises the glazed over look in his eyes, it’s the same one she sees in the mirror in the morning these days. He notices her entrance, throws in a couple more hooks into the bag with that immutable strength. Straightening his body as she draws closer, Steve gives his friend standing before him a once-over, his eyes soft and concerned.

‘Hit me, Steve.’

He hears the rawness in her voice, as if these were her first words spoken in the entire day.

‘Nat, no.’

She doesn’t take it.

‘Do it.’

Her eyes are steely, resolute, but he hears now the hardening edge, and everything left unsaid behind those words. He hears the thickly veiled _‘Please help me, Steve’,_ the quiver in her voice that she refuses to let on. He understands this entirely – the loss, the helplessness, the desperate grasps at red, white and blue to keep fighting, to make sense of it all. But Natasha – she has much more red, with black thrown in too, and it’s deep and dark and cold and once again, Steve is acutely aware that there is no amount of fighting that can win a battle that never was.

Steve makes no attempt to move, continues to look at Natasha with that warm – that _stupid_ – look. She wishes he would stop looking at her like that, like she was going to break. Natasha Romanoff _doesn’t_ fucking break, no. She is and has always been strong. She is a survivor, she fights and no matter how the odds are stacked against her, she makes sure she turns it all around and comes out on top. She makes it work for her, and she never loses.

Until _now_.

Steve is still looking at her that way.

And something in her snaps.

Natasha lunges towards Steve, throws a punch squarely in his jaw, and he stumbles back. He’s slightly in disbelief, even if he’s expected this, but he doesn’t retaliate, stays rooted to his feet like a rock. She lets out a frustrated cry as she’s all clenched fists and white knuckles, continues to advance as he keeps moving backwards, fending off each well-timed jab and kick.

‘Fight. Back.’ Natasha grunts, no break in her blows.

He continues with his defence.

A snarling vehemence fuels Natasha’s attacks, as she moves swiftly with renewed vigor and hits harder than ever before. He’s stronger than her, but she is much quicker, and she lands way more hits than he expects her to. Still, Steve Rogers makes no effort to strike back, taking everything she gives him.

Her face feels hot, her head is throbbing, her eyes are prickling and she feels it all – feels it closing in threateningly on her lungs, her heart drumming back feverishly to keep up. She feels the fire consuming her entire being, bright and raw and awful and unfamiliar, and it burns, oh how it burns. She’s pissed that Steve isn’t fighting back. She’s pissed that he’s doing this for her. She’s pissed that she’s taking out her frustration on Steve.  She’s pissed that it’s not Steve that she’s pissed at.

She’s pissed that there’s no other way that she can think of to process everything that has happened. She’s pissed that she hasn’t processed whatever that’s happened. She’s pissed that she can’t begin to know _how_ to process everything that has happened.

Most of all, she’s pissed that the one thing that had truly mattered to her is now gone, and there is absolutely nothing she can do about that.

Natasha punches and kicks at Steve until she is shaking from exhaustion, and she’s barely standing on her feet. She finally crumples and slumps slowly onto the ground. Steve picks himself up, winces at the pain coursing sharply through his body, moves gingerly towards the redhead who suddenly looks so small. He says nothing, carefully drops to the floor beside her, envelops her in his arms.

‘I’m sorry,’ he hears her murmur softly against him.

‘I know.’

They stay like that on the floor of the gym, letting the new, palpable ache in their bodies wash over them – a welcome distraction from that which strikes them right to their cores.


	3. bargaining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which there is bargaining with oneself, each other, and with death and time.
> 
> i got a little stuck with this one and school's been kicking my butt the whole semester. so hello, and happy holidays if you're still here - enjoy :)

_Let me in the wall, you've built around_  
_And we can light a match and burn them down_  
_And let me hold your hand and dance 'round and 'round the flames_  
_In front of us_

* * *

Since the last time Maria had kissed Natasha in the medbay, it was sometimes all either of them could think about, yet neither seemed to want nor know how to even begin to talk about it. There would always be something – an emergency, an evil plan to take down some government, hell, even a food fight in the Stark Tower one night during an intense round of ‘Family Feud’ – that they could use as an excuse to never bring up the matter.

So they continue to dance around each other, generous and stubborn all at the same time – from hot takeout meals and coffees with extra shots to heated exchanges in the gym and lingering looks when the other isn’t looking; and it doesn’t take long for the others to slowly pick up on the thickening tension.

“ _Talk to her._ ” Pepper tells Maria; Steve tells Natasha.

* * *

“You forget, Hill, that I’m a spy before I’m a SHIELD agent,” Natasha arches an eyebrow. “Going into this with an entire helicarrier and an army of baby agents is going to pretty much blow all my chances with the Red Room here.”

“ _You_ forget, Romanoff, that I’m your superior officer _and_ the commander of this operation. The new helicarriers have been fitted with extensive cloaking capabilities, not to mention how high the stakes are with the Red Room involved – “

Between the roles of soldier and spy and on the board drawn with rooks and pawns, they have and always will see each other as equals. Natasha knows Maria only pulls rank like this when she’s either really pissed or really scared, and she takes a bet on which case this might be.

“Come on, Maria,” Natasha tries again, more lightly this time. “These people built me. I know what they’re after and what they’re capable of. I’ll get to the intel before they do.”

Maria is silent, her lips set in a straight line, and Natasha takes this as a go sign to keep going with her final shot.

“Trust me, please. I know what I’m doing.”

“Are you really bargaining with me right now, Agent Romanoff? Do we all remember Belarus?” Maria’s tone is still sharp, but her expression tells Natasha otherwise.

Natasha grins now, knowing she’s won this time.

“One quinjet, and I’ll take only Clint.”

“You’re infuriating, Nat,” Maria gives in with a long, deep sigh. “One quinjet, Barton, and take Carter with you. No further negotiation.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Natasha banters smoothly, throwing in a wink for good measure, even as her breath hitches slightly at the nickname that Maria’s let slip. She takes a good look at Maria, silently thankful that she’s let her off easy this time.

Her eyes are cool and grey – they’re darker than usual, and Natasha recognises that look, she’s worn it herself many a time when Maria’s involved. She realises how close they’re standing now, and she feels the heat radiating off the other woman’s body, sees her chest starting to rise and fall that much quicker – it’d be so easy for her to press up on her toes, tilt her head in just the right angle and –

 _“_ No, not like this,” Maria breathes, sounding just a little out of breath, as if she knows. _How could she not know?_

Natasha doesn’t deflate – she knows what ‘ _this’_ means to Maria, understands the weight of her duty and the deep-seated doubt and hesitance that she would never let herself admit to. And this is neither the time nor the place to…talk? Have another incredibly mind numbing and heated kiss? Fuck each other out of their systems? Natasha feels a heat rising in her stomach.

She nods slowly and deliberately, and she sees and _feels_ Maria soften.

“Nat – be careful, _please,_ ” Maria whispers, her voice is laced with worry now.

And more. Natasha hears more in those few words.

She nods again, tongue thick and wordless. Maria is wide open now as she fired _her_ shot.

For just a moment, Natasha marvels at how this woman – long and dark and regal always – can still command such grace and presence whilst letting herself be this open with Natasha. She manages a small smile at Maria, begins to turn to leave, mind reeling as she goes through her arsenal of comebacks. 

As Natasha places a hand on the door, she turns; slightly shaking, but she takes a deep breath.

“Maria?”

“Yeah?”

There is a slight lilt in Maria’s response and the fire burns deeper in Natasha’s stomach. _This is it._

“We’ll talk when I get back. Okay?”

The soft, warm smile she receives in return is all Natasha needs to know she’s done the right thing.

* * *

Natasha takes a long look at the cool, grey headstone – immovable and immaculate, almost. All the same words she's heard used on the one Agent Hill, but this is nothing like her _Maria_. This is stone empty, with nothing underneath here.

 _No, not like this_ , Natasha tells herself one last time.

She gently places the single white rose she’s brought with her down onto the grave, just as a tear rolls down her cheek. There will be a time and place where she’ll be ready to say goodbye.

_I’m sorry._


	4. depression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter and the last chapter will have spoilers to endgame! tw: some hints to child abuse, depression and alcoholism.

_It's not your eyes_  
_It's not what you say_  
_It's not your laughter that gives you away_  
_You've been lonely too long_

* * *

 

Natasha finds her sitting in a corner of the observatory deck. She makes a mental note to thank Coulson for not feeding her false information, even if she herself _did_ conveniently leave out one little detail about where she’d obtained a certain vintage Captain America trading card that he was bribed with. If anything, Fury would probably only find out within a day or two, at least. _It’s for the greater good._

As Natasha approaches the woman on the floorboard, she notices her knees pulled up towards her chest and eyes the almost-empty bottle of bourbon in her hand.

“Hill?” she lets out a breath she doesn’t realise she’s holding.

Maria looks up at the call of her name, expression blank.

“Romanoff.”

“Mind if I sit with you?”

Maria doesn’t reply but inches closer towards the wall of the viewing window. Taking that as assent, Natasha all but drops onto the floor beside her. They sit together, with only the whirring of the vents and the sloshing of liquor with every swig that Maria takes filling the space between them.

“I’m fine,” Maria suddenly says prosaically, belying the image that Natasha is seeing. She doesn’t press though, and instead offers a distraction. She’ll still be here when Maria’s ready.

“I used to do ballet, back when I was younger. I was excellent at it.”

“Used to?” Maria is staring out the window, but it is clear in her voice that she welcomes the shift in attention.

“They led us to believe we were training with and for the _Bolshoi_. Even after we were old enough to figure out what we were really meant to do, they kept us at the rigorous ballet practice. For the discipline and physique that it built, they told us.”

Maria’s turned towards Natasha now, as she recognises the cadence of her words and the trust that is being allowed to her. She puts the bottle down beside her.

 “There was a girl, Raisa. She slept in the bed next to mine.” Natasha takes a deep breath. “I was made to kill her after she had an accident and could never dance again.” The implication is clear, and Maria feels a chill run through her despite herself.

“I haven’t entered a studio since I left.”

“Thank you for telling me.” There is nothing else that Maria can think of saying, but she means it wholeheartedly.

Natasha gives her a small smile in return and places her left hand on Maria’s knee. She’s surprised that she’s told her this, not many people know about this specific piece of information from her time in the Red Room. Two to be exact, but she’s learning here that trust is a two-way street, and talking helps, much as she is loath to admit it to the psychologist onboard the helicarrier.

“My father died today.”

Natasha is caught off-guard – this isn’t what she was expecting when she noticed her disappearing from a debrief earlier in the day. “I’m sorry about that, Maria.”

“No, it’s okay.” Maria closes her eyes, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. “He was a shit person, and an even shittier father anyway,” she tries to brush it off. Natasha was born within death; she is familiar with grief. She’s still learning that neither are simple, and both are painful. Time is the only salve, and even then…

So, Natasha doesn’t push her to talk about it. She will just be _here_.

“Hey, let me show you something.” She takes the bottle of bourbon and stands to her feet, extending her other hand out. Maria’s eyes are mix of confusion and curiosity. “Trust me,” she prods gently. Maria shrugs and lets herself be helped up.

Natasha leads them to the nearest conference room. “Take a seat,” she tells Maria as she logs into the system on the central terminal. A hologram of the world map appears before them with red pointers scattered across the globe, indicating all the security threats that SHIELD is monitoring. Ignoring Maria’s raised eyebrows, her fingers fly across the keypad, and the red dissolves into different green markers now, almost equal in density to the previous image. _A full database of successful SHIELD operations._

“How did you even get access to this?” Maria’s tone is wary and slightly accusatory. “It’s well above your security clearance.”

Natasha rolls her eyes but is impressed with how sharp a tipsy Maria Hill remains to be. “Don’t worry about it. This was part of my agreement with Fury when I first joined SHIELD.” She navigates to a point that Maria recognises to be Kosovo and clicks on it. The neighbouring screens flicker on, displaying the details of one of the first missions that the two had both been on together, not too long after Natasha had just defected. She watches as Maria’s eyes focus on the screen, the interest piquing clearly on her face.

“This was a good one,” Maria trails off, her finger scrolling through the full mission details. She scans through them thoroughly; even if it had happened many years ago, and even if she remembers it all with near-perfect clarity. It’s a force of habit.

“Yeah,” Natasha hums in agreement. “We saved a lot of lives that day,” she continues, just as Maria skims a little too quickly past the list of survivors. She spins the globe and lands on the green pointer on another successful mission. She wasn’t involved in this one, but she knows it was Maria’s first as a commander.

“Do you remember this one?”

They continue moving through the green together, both reliving and reminding themselves of the good that their work has helped bring. Natasha had requested for this access initially, out of paranoia that SHIELD would turn out to be like the Red Room, but she comes back to it for very different reasons these days.

“You’re doing just fine, commander. We all are.”

The words are decidedly simple, but the response comes all too quickly.  “And do you believe that?”

“Don’t you?”

“It’s just not very easy to internalise.” Maria evades the question, stiffening. For too long she’s believed these words to be too convenient and dangerous. An excuse you tell yourself to help you sleep at night.

“I know.” Natasha moves closer and turns to face Maria, willing her to do the same. “But we’re all here to remind you, if you let us. Here,” she continues, pushing a bottle of water and a blister pack of aspirin that she’d snagged along the way into Maria’s arms.

The air feels too thick and heavy, and Maria is wordless as she’s stunned yet warmed by the gesture.

“The weight of the world isn’t yours to bear,” Natasha murmurs, reaching her hand out to place it on Maria’s lap. “The weight of _his_ world wasn’t yours to bear.” She cannot begin to understand the relationship Maria had had with her father, but there is no child that should carry the culpability of their parents’ actions this way.

Maria nods and looks away, feeling the first prick of tears in her eyes.

“Thank you.” Natasha hears, a moment later. “For being here.”

They sit together in the darkness as Maria begins to cry.

* * *

Natasha was born within death; she is familiar with grief. It is said that grief has five stages, but what she’s known and learnt, is that it’s never that simple.

It’s been five years since the post-snap decimation, and Natasha’s kept on going. With Fury gone, she’s trying to be the good eye for Earth. Sometimes beyond, even, with the help of Carol. Steve thinks that she’s working too hard, tells her to get a life. _We have to move on_ , the insinuation resounding. She doesn’t think she could, disagrees that she must. She's sure that he's unconvinced of his own words too. Natasha is certain that she’s coping just fine, ignoring the concerned looks from Okoye and Rhodey. She keeps on going.

It’s been five years, yet there are the days when it all comes back, weighs her down, makes her sick to the stomach. These are the days that she works herself to the bone with no room to be left alone in wake of a tremendous quiet. She scours the galaxies, delves into every heat signature and every ping, leaves nothing unturned. These are the days where she falls asleep in front of the terminals. She dreams of the arcane realms beyond her reach, which have her waking up, shaking and screaming.

On nights like these, she reaches automatically for her phone and scrolls through the saved messages, finds what she’s looking for.

_Hey, a wise friend told me once – the weight of the world isn’t yours to bear.  You’re doing just fine, agent. I'll see you soon.  – M._

She allows herself the time and space to settle down through wracked sobs and stolen breaths. _I miss you so much, I wish you were here_ , she allows herself to whisper into the darkness. 

It’s been five years, and she is constantly reminded that grief can come for you at any given moment. Sometimes, it is crippling and unceremonious, in full force like a never-ending game of pinball. It is gentle other times, rests silently upon the edge of her shoulders as the memories of the family she’s created breathe through her, push her on.

It’s been five years, and she is still learning that grief, with all its heartache and dolour, doesn’t ever really go away.

Today is one of those days, and she picks up her pointe shoes.

She keeps on going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while, and endgame had me completely devastated. i'm not entirely happy with the treatment of natasha's character, so here i am trying to write my frustration away.
> 
> i have depression myself, and firmly believe in finding/having access to social support and the importance of self-care. it's something to be managed, rather than completely eradicated, and there is nothing wrong with that. i also have a headcanon that natasha copes a little more adaptively with all of /this/ than maria does (not that it makes any of it easier for nat), so that found its way into this chapter! 
> 
> we're getting to the end now!!


	5. acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> endgame spoilers, once again!

_You're like a mirror, reflecting me_  
_Takes one to know one, so take it from me_  
_You've been lonely_  
_You've been lonely too long_  
We've been lonely  
We've been lonely too long

* * *

A soul for a soul, Red Skull had said, and Natasha decides there and then that it would be her. It was never going to be Clint, no. She wouldn’t be able to live with that.

“Whatever it takes.” They echo each other’s words, both unwilling to yield. They fight, and he wins – almost. She was supposed to stay down after his blast, _god damnit, Natasha_. She is unrelenting, and instead throws herself over the cliff after him, until she’s hanging only by his grip.

“Damn you, Nat.”

Natasha looks down into the valley and back up at her partner, a calmness washing over her.

He watches her face soften.

“It’s okay, Clint.”

_Nat, please._

This is not her redemption; this is more than clearing the red in the ledger. In her time as part of the Avengers and with SHIELD, Natasha Romanoff had slowly given herself the absolution she’s always sought. She’d began to learn to live with who she was and the Natasha that she’s created. And this – this a sacrifice she’s choosing to make for the family that she’s found, and a world she’s grown to love.

She’s not running away anymore.

She is okay with this.

Natasha Romanoff lets herself go.

* * *

Pepper buys the Avengers Tower back and tells them that it is entirely at their disposal, so it is without hesitation that Natasha’s memorial service is held there. The service is small, private, something they think she would have wanted.

When Maria arrives, Pepper pulls her in for a long hug, which she reciprocates immediately and fully. They’ve missed each other. As they let go, Pepper holds out an envelope to her.

“She told me to give this to you before they left, if she didn’t…” she trails off, the words unnecessary.

Maria eyes the envelope carefully, seeing her name written neatly in what she recognises to be Natasha’s handwriting. Her heart is racing as she takes it from Pepper’s hands.

“Excuse me, Pep,” Maria’s voice is low, as she turns and walks out into the hallway. Slipping into one of the empty rooms, she stares at the envelope for a long moment. Finally, she takes a deep breath, pulling the letter out with shaky hands.

> _Dear Maria,_
> 
> _If you’re reading this, it means we did it. We won. Welcome back._
> 
> _I’m sure they’ve filled you in on on our grand rescue plan to travel through time and space to bring everybody back. Even after New York…I’d still never have imagined the vastness of the cosmic universes beyond the world as we know it. Looks like you’re going to have more than a handful of world (or should I say, intergalactic?) security issues to handle, Commander. I know the plan sounds crazy, but we had to try, Maria. I had to try._
> 
> _And if you’re reading this, it means it really did happen. I wasn’t sure, but there was an inkling from the notes that I took down as Nebula briefed us (I think you would love her). If there were any other way, Clint and I would have done it in a single heartbeat. It’s nobody’s fault, it had to be done. So here I am, just in case. I didn’t want to have to leave without saying goodbye to you. Not a second time._
> 
> _I used to have nothing, and then I got this. I got SHIELD, the Avengers. I got you. And it is more than I could ever have asked for. You were an important part of my life, Maria, and I’d never thought that I could feel…this much, for someone else. Thank you for showing me that. I know we danced around this, and I know a part of you felt the same, at least, and I’m sorry we never got our time together. In another life, you told me once. Remember? Well, I’m really holding you to that now._
> 
> _And know that it’s okay. This was my choice, and I’m sure you, or the others, would have done the same. The best thing you can do right now is to keep going on, Maria. The world has to keep going on, always. I know you don’t need anybody to tell you this, but I hope this note serves as a reminder if ever you need it, even if I’m no longer here. And please promise me you’ll take care of yourself in the process._
> 
> _I love you, Maria Hill. I never got the chance to tell you in person, and that will be my single regret._
> 
> _I love you_
> 
> _I love you_
> 
> _I love you_
> 
> _A thousand times over._
> 
> _Goodbye, Maria. Until we meet again._
> 
> _\- Natasha_

Damn you, Nat. Damn you, a thousand times over. _I love you too_.

Maria wipes furiously at her eyes, just as she hears Sam’s voice from outside the door.

“Hill? Are you in there?”

“In a minute!”

She slides the letter back into its envelope, fingers gripping it tight. Turning the door, she notices Sam’s still outside waiting. He makes no mention of the red in her eyes, and instead beckons her back towards the terrace. “You gotta come see this.”

Maria makes her way over with Sam, as the rest are gathered around the railing, looking down. What she sees sends tingles down her spine.

The service is small, private, something they think she would have wanted.

But the world had thought otherwise, as thousands of people are assembled at the entrance of the Avengers tower. They’re all dressed in black, and from up high where Maria is standing, she sees the unmistakeable shape of an hourglass, formed by the warm glow of candlelight. _They had come to pay homage to Natasha._ There never was a doubt that the world would keep going. It has to. Yet on this night, the world remembers the woman that had sacrificed her life for its fighting chance.  
  
And even as the world turns, it shall never forget that Natasha Romanoff died a hero.

_fin_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i first started this fic, it was really meant to be about natasha's acceptance about maria being gone. but so much time has passed and with endgame being out, this has gotten to natasha's acceptance of her own predicament, and everyone else's acceptance with her choices/the outcome of that. i disagree with markus and mcfeely that giving nat a funeral would've been dishonest to the character, and on the reasoning that she's been a cipher this whole time. all the avengers /are/ public figures, as set up by mcu across so many filns, and i just wanted to write in some form of tribute to her. 
> 
> anyway, thank you for sticking around with this!! it has been, in a way, my own 'acceptance' with what happened in iw/endgame.


End file.
